


Mapping out Galaxies

by lazarus



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-20
Updated: 2012-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-16 16:44:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarus/pseuds/lazarus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re a mess of tangled limbs, white sheets and warm skin, and Tim feels it’s as close to perfect as it’s ever going to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mapping out Galaxies

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://soldieress.tumblr.com/post/33903545711/imagineyourotp-imagine-your-otp-getting-hot-and). Naturally, I let this fic get away from me and it turned into this. Also, this is for Vivian, Teal, Mina and Willow, for being endlessly patient and kind to me whenever I lost my mind to Connor/Tim. You guys, as always, are the best :)

The first thing Tim notices as soon as he’s conscious enough to form cognitive thought is his surroundings: he’s lying on a bed in a room that isn’t his, that much is clear, but it’s a room that’s also in no way unfamiliar either. The place feels warm, comfortingly so, like the feeling Tim feels bubbling in his chest, making him want nothing more than to just sink back and let it encase him. 

The second thing he notices is the state that he’s in: he’s naked, save for the sheets tangled with his legs, and he’s completely sore from the waist down. There are splotches of red marks and bites along his neck, his shoulders and even more along the inside of his thighs. A pleasant little tingle involuntarily erupts all over Tim’s skin.

The last thing Tim notices—and it should have been the first thing he noticed—is that he isn’t alone. There’s a body—which is much warmer than the room itself—pressed firmly against his back, an arm draped over Tim’s hip and the sounds of light breathing hot over Tim’s neck. 

Fully awake now, Tim sits up and looks behind him, blinking at the sight of Connor fast asleep on the same pillow. His blond hair is in all sorts of disarray and he’s just as naked as Tim. From this angle, Tim can make out a series of faint scratch marks along Connor’s shoulders and a little more down his back—little souvenirs from when Tim had been desperate, out of his mind, and started to cling nail-deep and gloriously painful.

Tim shivers again from the memory. Of Connor’s hands, gentle yet firm, touching every inch of him he could reach, burning like no other fire Tim’s felt before. Of his mouth kissing Tim breathless, tracing every scar on Tim’s body, as if he was trying to relearn every single one of them; of they way Connor had felt when he was  _inside_  him, moving, claiming, begging, all harsh and raw and perfect, like he was remaking Tim from the inside out, making him into something  _whole_. Like Connor  _belonged_  there. And Tim realized he did, he always  _did_.

Tim wonders how many mornings it was going to take for him to finally believe that this was  _permanent_. That Connor wasn’t going to just up and leave any time soon. That he was here to  _stay_. Despite himself, Tim reaches out to touch him, breathing out a sigh of relief when his hand makes contact with solid form and he can feel Connor’s heart beat steadily beneath his palm. 

 _this is all mine_ , Tim thinks, just as Connor finally stirs awake and opens his eyes—and they are a deep, forest green—and smiles as soon as his sight focuses on Tim.

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning,” Tim says, unable to stop himself from smiling. 

Connor’s brow dips slightly. “What are you doing over there?”

There’s only an inch of space between them, yet from Connor’s expression it might as well be a whole chasm. As if he’s dealt with this a million times already (and Tim supposes, that he probably has), Connor takes Tim’s hand—the hand that’s now resting over Connor’s chest—and gives a gentle tug that sends Tim falling on top of him. 

“There,” says Connor, grinning. “Much better.”

They’re a mess of tangled limbs, white sheets and warm skin, and Tim feels it’s as close to perfect as it’s ever going to be. 

“What’s the matter?”

“Hm?” says Tim, blinking. 

“You had this strange look on your face just now,” says Connor, tucking a strand of hair behind Tim’s ears.

“I…” says Tim, unsure of what to say because he’s never had someone so in tune with his own emotions before, never had someone this close or this deep to know when something was wrong without Tim giving himself away. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Connor whispers, cupping the side of Tim’s face. Tim closes his eyes, automatically learning into his palm. 

When he opens his eyes again, Connor’s face is an open book for Tim to read: concern, contentment, fondness,  _desire_ , happiness and something much too profound for Tim to articulate into words. But it was there, as glaringly obvious as the sun, and completely blinding. Tim isn’t sure how he’s never realized it before. 

“You love me,” he says, his voice soft, awed and disbelieving, because it’s so damn  _obvious_  now. “You really, really love me,” he says again, still in a state of wonder. 

It’s Connor’s turn to look confused, but it’s short-lived. He smiles, wide and beautiful. “Of course I do,” he says. “I really, really do.” 

Tim leans his head down and kisses Connor soundly but intently on the mouth, hoping his meaning is clear. He’s never been good at this, never been good with  _words_. Give him calibrations, give him equations and riddles and work; give him a purpose to fight and lead, and he’ll know exactly what to say. But give him your heart, your life and your soul, and he’ll struggle and fail and be as useless as a tangled tongue.  

 _i love you too_ , is what Tim wants to say but can’t. 

But Connor’s pulling him closer, one hand still on Tim’s cheek, angling their heads so he can deepen the kiss. The other is nestled tightly on Tim’s back, holding him there like an anchor securing a ship to land. 

 _it’s okay, i already know_ , is what Connor tells him.  

Tim bites Connor’s bottom lip and inches closer, his fingers already making a mess of Connor’s unruly bedhead; gasping loudly when Connor all but slides his hand down Tim’s back and begins to move Tim’s hips against his, a slow but burning grind that has Tim hard and shaky within seconds. 

“Fuck,” Tim pants. 

“Yeah,” Connor agrees, his voice just as rough, although he doesn’t stop his movements and doesn’t bother to remove the sheets either, even as he rolls them over and pins Tim against the mattress. 

Instead Connor starts a trail of kisses along Tim’s jaw, the length of his neck, his throat, his collarbones and shoulders, down his chest, to his hips, before finally disappearing beneath the sheets, slowly spreading Tim’s legs apart with his big, warm hands. The puff of Connor’s breath ghosts over the insides of Tim’s thighs. 

Tim cranes his neck back and bites back the moans into his pillow, despite the fact that Connor has yet to touch him  _anywhere_. 

“Connor, please,” Tim says helplessly, not even caring if Connor has him resorting to begging, because Tim just  _wants_  so much right now and Connor’s not giving him any of it. Not yet.

He tries to find Connor beneath the blankets, but he’s disappeared entirely; the only indication that he’s there at all is Tim’s parted thighs and the outline of Connor’s head and back, sitting right between them. The anticipation alone is unnerving and exhilarating all at once that when Tim  _finally_  feels the light touch of Connor’s tongue against his naval, a sound unfamiliar to him escapes his throat, loud and needy. And once more, when Connor does it again, this time, a little closer to his cock. 

“Connor, you horrible  _tease_ ,” Tim hisses, sounding more than a little impatient now, “would you just hurry and—ah,  _fuck_!” 

Because Connor had taken this opportunity to swallow him whole and was sucking him with  _gusto_. Tim puts his hands over his mouth to stop himself from screaming. He want to move his hips, to ride the rhythm of Connor’s mouth, to feel the intensity of the moment when Connor’s cheeks go hollow to take Tim deeper, but Connor has him pinned to the bed, making it impossible to do anything but  _take_  it. Which was precisely what Connor had in mind.

Tim thrashes his head from side to side, the sensation in his stomach reaching outstanding peaks every second. 

“Connor,” Tim gasps, because he can feel it getting closer, the edge of completion, and he wanted more than Connor’s mouth to help him get there.

Connor could sense it too because he finally pulls away with a slick _pop_  of his mouth, kicks the blankets off the both of them until they’re both naked and bare, and reaches over to the side of the bed to get what he needs. 

Connor’s hands are trembling now as he spills the lube over his cock, his fingers and Tim’s opening with messy care. 

“Connor,” Tim repeats weakly, his voice barely audible this time and grabs Connor’s wrist to tell him to stop, that that’s  _more_  than enough now, that it’s  _time._

Without a word, Connor spreads Tim’s thighs wider, as wide as they can go, until Tim’s ass is only an inch off the mattress, before Connor takes him in one smooth motion.  

There’s a second as either of them don’t move, trying to adjust to the tightness and the sensations, their breaths coming out shallow and harsh. Tim finds Connor’s eyes and says something. He’s not quite sure what. Maybe it’s move, or Connor’s name, or maybe even I love you, Tim doesn’t know, but Connor’s pulling out and pushing back in again, each thrust a little harder, a little deeper and much better than the last. 

Tim just closes his eyes, wraps his arms around Connor’s neck, his shoulders, and holds on, trusting Connor to take care of him. 

“Don’t hold back,” Connor murmurs after a heartbeat.

Tim opens his eyes and sees Connor staring down at him, his eyes dark and intense. Tim briefly wonders what Connor sees, wonders if he’s seeing the same thing that Tim sees in him; a broken, scarred and yet beautiful thing.

There are droplets of sweat pouring down from the tips of Connor’s blond hair, his broad shoulders coiled with mounting tension and tight muscles, and down below, Tim can see where they’re connected, where Connor begins and where Tim ends…or maybe it’s the other way around. Tim’s not sure anymore. All he’s certain of is this is how they should always be: together. 

“Don’t hold back,” Connor says again, almost urgently now, his movements becoming erratic; the grip on Tim’s thighs tight enough to bruise. “I want to hear you.”  

“You horrible, horrible  _tease_ ,” Tim says, trembling, and moans, loud and uninhibited. He’s beginning to see the first sign of stars behind his eyelids.

“You love me,” Connor whispers. 

“I do,” Tim moans. “I really, really do.” 

The rest is said without words. Tim flounders and Connor reaches out for his hand without a second thought, intertwining their fingers. Connor groans deep in his throat and Tim flexes his legs up higher above his waist to give him access and more. Tim throws his head back with a silent cry and Connor buries his face in the crook of his neck, his mouth resting on Tim’s pulse, while he rides Tim, hard and fast, straight into an orgasm so incredible and intense that it sends the both of them spiraling over the side of the bed. 

They don’t get up for several moments as they cling to each other and try to catch their breaths. 

“Holy shit,” Tim says once they’re both coherent—breathless, sticky, shaky but coherent enough.

Connor has his back on the floor, his feet still half on the bed, and Tim’s trapped beneath the blankets, body flushed tight against Connor’s and his legs draped between Connor’s. 

Connor finds his eyes, and for a minute, neither one of them says a thing. Connor is the first to crack and he bursts out laughing.

“It wasn’t that funny,” Tim points out, trying to hide his smile in Connor’s chest and failing miserably; his shoulders are shaking and not too long after, he’s laughing too. Open, loud and with complete abandon, like every good thing Connor always seemed to bring out in him.

Connor throws his head back and keeps laughing, warm and happy and alive, and Tim’s stomach is starting to hurt. But Tim’s arms wrap firmly around Connor’s waist and, unconsciously, Tim feels Connor do the same; his big, warm hand secure along Tim’s back and shoulders, drawing him close. 

 _This is mine_ , Tim thinks, dizzy with happiness.

And he feels his whole heart believe it. 


End file.
